Incompatible
by G.E Waldo
Summary: Summary: Angst, Relationships, solving a case, a tropical Island. Episodic Pairing: House/Wilson, PRE-SLASH & SLASH. PLUS: Chase/Cameron, Thirteen and Cuddy NOT paired
1. Chapter 1

Incompatible

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Post-Mayfield.

**Summary:** Angst, Relationships, solving a case, a tropical Island. Episodic

**Pairing:** House/Wilson, PRE-SLASH & SLASH. PLUS: Chase/Cameron, Thirteen and Cuddy (NOT paired)

**Rating:** ADULT MATURE Some swearing.

**Disclaimer:** The man with the delectable a$$, magnificent legs and cane doesn't belong to me...yadda, yadda...

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"Three tickets."

House stared at the small flight folder on Cuddy's desk. "Going somewhere?" He said.

Cuddy, Plainsboro's raven-haired Dean of Medicine and House's long-suffering, long-time friend and boss, crossed her arms. "You are. There's a special case-"

"- and you want me to am-scray. Big, rich contributor - I get it. We'll fly to Jamaica for a week, I can entertain myself by jacking-off to Wilson in his Smiley apron."

Cuddy frowned with distaste. "I can do without the stomach-churning visuals. This case I have assigned to _you_. He hasn't been off his island in fifteen years."

"His _island_? Would this man by any chance be single?"

"He's not gay, and neither are you, unless you and Wilson have been sharing more than a bed."

"No, but you gotta' admit, Wilson does have nice buns, but he's three-times divorced, and that means three-times broke."

Cuddy waved away her employee's silliness. "They guy won't travel. He's paranoid; afraid to fly and afraid to be in or on the water. But he's agreed to pay a ridiculous amount of money to get you to come out and treat him on the spot."

"Afraid of water? How'd he get _on_ the island? And what Island?"

"House, the guy begged me."

"Wish I'd caught _that_ show. Another rich contributor. What's my cut?"

"Three all-expenses-paid tickets. Thirteen, you and Wilson."

"Foreman might object to the three-some idea, although I'm sure Thirteen would go for it at the end of her second light beer."

"Foreman has to stay here and run things. Thirteen goes as your assistant. Wilson goes because the poor man needs a vacation. _From_ you would probably be healthier for him, but _with_ you is the best I can do. And you go as the insane doctor. It's Chile."

"I _love_ chili. Suppose I don't solve it? Thirteen - _the_ Thirteen - is hardly a "team"."

"Tough."

"Unless I have Chase and Cameron, I won't do it." House took a deep, dramatic breath and held it, ballooning his whiskered cheeks.

Cuddy chuckled. She could always count on House for some mild amusement. "You think I'm going to cave just because you're holding your breath?"

House nodded, but his face was beginning to turn beet-red.

Cuddy rested her chin in her hand, waiting for the inevitable.

The strain to breath finally broke him, and House expelled in a great rush of air, swaying a little, dizzy with lack of oxygen.

"Good try." She commended.

House sat down in her visitor's chair.

Cuddy closed her eyes to her number one human irritant. "_Now_ what are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm holding a one-soldier protest." House thrust his left index finger toward the floor. "I am going to sit in this chair and not move until you let me take Chase and Cameron, too. The advantage of this threat is, my dorsal and ventral respiratory groups aren't going to _make_ me leave if I don't want to. Peristalsis of the colon _might_ make me want to go to the bathroom but even _then_ - who knows? _This_ could be my Tiananmen Square; my fight against tyranny. My - "

Cuddy stared over her hand at him, cutting him off with " - I'll wear a bikini."

House's mouth fell open. "_You're_ going, too? How am I going to goof-off with you around?"

"You're goofing off right _now_. It's a French-cut."

"Sold." House thrust his cane under him, preparing to stand, leave his boss's office and get busy not getting busy. "So is this guy a rich spoiled contributor who's gong to make my life miserable the whole time I'm there?"

"Rich? Yes. Contributor since his check cleared. And you miserable? What's new." Cuddy sat back in her chair. She got what she wanted, and planned on leaving her bikini at home. _Maybe_. "Look, I don't care if you accidentally sew a second head onto his shoulders, as long as we can say you tried your best."

House tilted his head, considering it. It might be fun. A week in a nice resort. All the alcohol you can drink. Thirteen in a bikini. Cuddy in a _tiny_ bikini. Cameron in ...he decided not to speculate. He would save _that_ vision for a surprise.

Wilson in a thong-Speedo. House was only mildly surprised how much _that_ vision turned him on. Life was good.

-

-

"Why are we switching planes? _Again_?" Wilson rolled House along in the folding wheelchair, his cane, considered a potential weapon, packed in the cargo hold along with the rest of their luggage.

Wilson tried to close his ears to his friend's complaining. "Because we need to get to the guy's island, remember?"

House frowned. "Cuddy is such a liar. Southern Chile is hardly tropical. More like semi-sub antarctic boreal. So? Helicopter? Cessna?"

"Um...neither." Wilson said.

House craned his neck around to try and see if his friend was hiding something. "What island are we going to - exactly?"

"The Falkland's in a passenger boat."

House clamped his hands onto the wheel's of his chair, bringing it and himself to an abrupt halt. "I can't travel by boat and you know it."

"Yes, you _can_." Wilson shook his head. "You were just a little kid the last time you puked on the water. You told me all about it."

"I was twelve, and I didn't just puke on the water, I puked on the boat and in my parents cabin and on my bed."

"You'll be fine. It's only a few hours." Wilson reached down and unhooked House's fingers from the wheelchair. "I brought Gravol with me just in case."

"Great. So I'll feel _good_ while I'm puking."

Wilson wheeled House to the small airport exit and to their waiting taxi, opening the door for House, who was using both hands to lever himself out of the chair and into the taxi with as much grace as feasible. "You're such a baby." Wilson muttered.

"I am _not_!"

-

-

Cuddy sipped her less than passable coffee in the boat's tiny kitchen. The whole vessel wasn't longer than forty feet, and the staff consisted of the captain, a boats man, one "deck-hand" and a dog who hadn't seen a bath in years, and liked to rub up against any passing human. Cuddy made a mental note to speak to her secretary about the travel arrangements he had made. This was a little more "economical" than she had expected.

The "kitchen", where they were being served "lunch" was a cubby-hole beneath a canvas canopy right next the Head. There was barely enough room for herself and the rest of House's team. All were present sipping beverages ranging from coffee to fruity cocktails, or eating the euphemistically labeled "Lunch". Two long, thin loaves of sliced up bread, three types of spread, one vegetable, one made of what their server said was a processed lamb and rice spread, and one made of what looked like dark chocolate and crushed peanuts. A bowl of sliced fruit that looked like it had come from cans bought from the shelves of a Piggly-Wiggly, and barely palatable coffee.

Wilson had to duck to descend the narrow stairs. He joined them at the table, wedging his long legs beneath it.

"How's House?" Cameron asked.

Wilson recalled House's face turning from fair to white to ocean green as the boat left the fairer waters near the coast and entered the choppy, twenty foot swells twenty miles out. House had taken to the "infirmary", a tiny closet with a single cot, a box of aspirin, a brown bottle of ethyl alcohol of questionable age, and a box of plastic bandages that had seen better, and drier, days. "Well, by now there's probably nothing left in his stomach to throw up."

Chase cringed at the image. "Do you mind, I'm trying to eat." Chase was chewing on a piece of white doughy bread piled high with one of the two available "spreads". This one looked like a green tomato and chili concoction. By the smell of it, it was also heavily flavored with garlic.

Wilson grimaced. To him, it looked about as appetizing as the last contents of House's sick-pail. "I gave him a mild sedative. He's sleeping."

Chase shook his head. He found it all amusing. "Can't wait to get back and tell Foreman that Mister Tough-Guy has a tender tummy."

Wilson frowned a little. Motion sickness tales could be funny when hearing about them in someone's vacation anecdote, but it was a miserable condition for the sufferer if prolonged, even resulting in severe dehydration if the patient couldn't keep anything down, especially if not even water. House, thankfully, had managed a tepid glass of that. Wilson felt a little guilty for assuming House's queasy stomach was a childhood malady long done with. "He's feeling terrible." He said, looking only at Cuddy. "On the trip back, we should take a Cessna. I'll pay for it if the hospital isn't willing."

Cuddy nodded. "I'll arrange it." She hadn't thought to even ask if anyone needed special travel arrangements, except for a wheelchair for House; a standard requirement on most airlines if a passenger had to use a cane or had other mobility problems.

Wilson nodded. House had looked _really_ awful. It would take him a couple of days just to recuperate, and they were only going to be on the island, if all went well diagnostically, five days. So House was going to enjoy maybe three days of this travel vacation, and then only if the weather cooperated. "House thought this was going to be a warm week on the beach." Wilson commented. "He doesn't do well with cool, wet weather." It made his leg ache that much more.

Sharing his apartment with House had reminded Wilson just how difficult day-to-day living still was for his friend. House's leg, without the Vicodin, was a shade worse for pain, and hadn't responded to the ibuprofen and muscle relaxants as well as Nolan had hoped. House still spent many mornings massaging the thigh and rhythmically hobbling around in circles, trying to numb the injured limb enough to make it into work.

The boat took a deep dive into a watery trough, then rose dramatically again. Everyone present had to grab onto their cups and plates in order to prevent them from sliding off the table and shattering all over the floor. He hoped House was still asleep, so he could miss what remained of the roller coaster boat-ride.

Wilson looked at Cuddy out of the corner of his eye and noticed that she looked a little guilty. It was some small satisfaction, and he poured a cup of coffee for himself.

-

"Hey." Wilson touched House's shoulder. House had shed his jacket and shoes, and was curled up on his left side on the narrow cot, still asleep from the sedative. Wilson hated to wake him, but their boat had docked. "We're here."

House stirred, opening his eyes. He looked better, but Wilson noticed that he made a point of not attempting to sit up yet, or even move much.

"Still sick?"

House nodded his head and then made a face, regretting even that movement.

"Need another shot?"

House took a deep breath, trying to settle the left-over rages of his delicate digestive system. "No. I need to go _home_." House reached out his right hand, and Wilson took it, helping him into a sitting position. Then his hand went immediately to his thigh and he rubbed it. "I can't believe Cuddy talked me into this."

Wilson seemed to remember it as more of a bribe. "Can you walk?"

House answered by suddenly draining of all color, grabbing his sick bucket and burying his face in it. After retching twice, all that came up was a small amount of bile. Wilson handed him a paper towel and House wiped his mouth. "Got a stretcher?"

"Sorry." Wilson tried to be encouraging. "Was that the stomach or the leg?" When House didn't answer, Wilson said "Come on, let's get you on dry, un-moving land. That should help."

House nodded, though very little and struggled to his feet, leaning on the thin wall for support. "Hand me my shoes."

-

-

The ride up to the hotel-like mansion was uneventful, the group of doctors climbing into two limousines. Depositing them off at the main entrance, two servants greeted them, and their luggage was piled on a wheeled cart and taken around to a side entrance.

A pleasantly smiling, pretty maid dressed in a simple frock of form-cut cotton, introduced herself as Marguerite, waved them in and handed each of her employer's special guests a bottle of wine to take to their assigned rooms. Those rooms apparently already decided upon according to Cuddy's negotiated arrangements with her hospital's rich client.

Chase and Cameron began the long climb to the top of the ornate wood stair-case that split into two half way up, curving off to the left and right, leading the guests to either the right or left wing of the mansion. According to the maid's instructions, Chase and Cameron took the left.

Cuddy was handed a bottle of wine and sent to the right wing, as was Thirteen.

Lastly Wilson was handed two bottles and, with House, once again on his cane, were steered toward the left wing.

House looked at the long flight of stairs, and asked the maid. "How am I supposed to...?"

The maid's smile fell a little. Evidently, she had not been warned of House's handi-capped status. "Oh, um," She said in a Chilean accent lightly seasoned with British. "Well, I will call Eduardo. He can help you."

The attendant who showed up was a barge-like man of six feet, his olive-skinned head sitting on a foundation of thick rolls of shoulder muscles, and arms like a bear. Marguerite introduced him around, and Eduardo with a simple, short bow of greeting to the group, moved toward House, making like to sweep him up off his feet and carry him upstairs honey-moon style.

House, still nimble with his feet despite his cane and still-churning stomach, deftly side-stepped the massive man. "Only when I'm _dead." _House warned him, fending him off by holding his cane out and sideways like a quarter-staff. He was not going to be carried around! House glared at Wilson. "Was this Cuddy's idea or yours?"

"Neither." Wilson answered. He turned to speak to Marguerite. "Look, can Eduardo just somehow _roll_ Doctor House up the stairs in the wheelchair?"

Marguerite smiled and nodded her head several times rapidly, grateful for the solution. "Si. Yes." Eduardo fetched the wheelchair and soon Wilson and House were standing in a wide thickly carpeted hallway, the walls of both sides hung with portraits of what they assumed were family members.

Wilson's room was behind a beautifully carved white painted door trimmed in gold. Wilson leaned in. "This looks like real gold-leaf."

House didn't care about the door. "Where's _my_ room?" He asked Marguerite who had accompanied them upstairs to ensure the crippled doctor arrived without mishap.

She gestured a delicate hand toward the door. "Oh, this is it. It is the Master's largest double-room."

House looked back in horror. "You mean attached? With a _shared_ bathroom?"

She nodded, her shining caps never wavering as she and Eduardo made their discreet departure.

Wilson looked down at House in disapproval. "You're complaining already?"

House stood on shaky legs. The sedative Wilson had given him combined with his illness, had left him feeling light-headed and unsteady on his feet. "I've been doing nothing but sharing a bed and bathroom with you for months."

Wilson hadn't minded. Having someone in his bed again every night, the proximity of another warm body, had given him back a kind of...physical comfort he hadn't had in a good while. "I didn't hear you complaining when I suggested it."

House said. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Wilson glanced sharply at him. House hadn't sounded sad, exactly, more like resigned to his fate. "Are you unhappy staying with me?" He opened the door and they were greeted by un-abashed opulence. They both entered, taking a moment to survey the grand room before them.

Everything that had been placed in the room was meant for serenity and comfort. There were fresh cut flowers on every table. A king-sized bed with satin sheets and down-quilts as thick and two white layer cakes piled on top of one another. There was a fireplace of aqua-colored marble with two leather easy chairs pushed in front of it. Between the chairs was a small hand-carved table that looked about a thousand years old and priceless. Here it was being used to hold drinks. On its waxed surface sat three bottles easily recognizable as nothing but the very best; one of Sherry, one of imported single-malt Scotch, and another bottle of a possibly orange flavor of liqueur, it's aged golden depths getting tastier minute by minute.

On a side-table to the right of the fireplace sat a large silver tray holding a dozen different drinking glasses of every description, and a large decanter of Whiskey. The furnishings were all rich, well padded and shined to a perfect gloss. And both men knew that through the bathroom door, was another bedroom that was just as grand as this one. The bathroom itself was probably the size of a great-room and no doubt decorated just as richly.

"Wow." House looked with approval on the selection of booze. "I guess a shared bathroom isn't so bad."

House wandered around the room, picking up objects, looking at them, then setting them down again. He shook his head without hesitation, answering Wilson's last question. "No, you've been great but,..."

Wilson felt a tiny leap from his heart. "But what?"

"I'm a fifty-year old bachelor" House said it as though being alone at that age constituted him as some sort of failure. "Who isn't _even_ a bachelor." House shrugged with one hand. "Not your fault I went nuts, but now you're stuck with me."

Wilson could not believe his ears. House thought he was being nothing but a drag on his friend; a hardship. "House, I _like_ having you there." He didn't go into all the reasons why. Long-time friendship of course, and just congenial companionship, a warm body in his bed at night, and ...other reasons he didn't want to think much about just yet. If ever.

House gave Wilson a small, barely there look of gratitude. "For ten years, I've been tired of being in pain. Now I'm tired of being crazy."

A confession all the more heart-rending for it's simple truth. House meant he was dependant on others now, and it was scaring the hell out of him. House, a professional man, a world-famous diagnostic physician who had lived independently for almost all of his adult life now, at fifty years old, was forced to rely on other people for almost everything. For his living space, his job, his safety, and to an extent his self-respect because he could no longer be on his own, and on top of that also had to have someone watch his every move with regards to medication, sleep, diet, and stress level, for fear the hallucinations returned. Or perhaps something worse.

Wilson had no idea what to say to that. All he could think of was "Well, you helped me once, now I'm helping you. For me, it hasn't..." Wilson wanted to say that he was _loving_ having House near him, but finished with "been _bad_ at all."

House nodded, making no further comment about it. "I suppose I ought to see this client of Cuddy's."

Wilson heard a soft, irregular _tap-tap-tap_ on the large windows behind them. He walked over and drew aside the fold of thick blue silk to look out, and was greeted by dark clouds had formed, settling over the island with all the appearances of staying for a while. The origin of the _tap-tap-tap_ was revealed. It had begun to rain.

House looked crestfallen. Dejectedly - "There goes the French bikini's and thong Speedo's".

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Part II asap


	2. Chapter 2

Incompatible

Part II

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Post-Mayfield.

**Summary:** Angst, Relationships, solving a case, a tropical Island. Episodic

**Pairing:** House/Wilson, PRE-SLASH & SLASH. PLUS: Chase/Cameron, Thirteen and Cuddy (NOT paired)

**Rating:** ADULT MATURE Some swearing.

**Disclaimer:** The man with the delectable a$$, magnificent legs and cane doesn't belong to me...yadda, yadda...

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House's patient was a man of fifty with a small paunch, a bald head, but naturally so and thus being smooth and shiny enough to reflect light. He was altogether a slightly nervous, fretful but otherwise pleasant fellow who had "not been feeling well" for many months.

"I've flown four other doctors out here to help me, and none of them could figure out what was wrong." He pleased to Doctor Cameron, the first physician to meet him since their boat docked. "Where is Doctor House?"

Cameron was ready with an excuse. It had the charm of actually being true. "Doctor House is lying down for a little while. The crossing made him quite sea-sick. I'm sure he'll be around as soon as he is able."

"Oh dear." The fellow said. "Do you think he'll be well enough to work?"

"Yes." She assured him with a warm smile. "He wouldn't have come otherwise." For the puzzle. And because of a bribe from Cuddy. So he had come. It certainly had nothing to do with altruism - the patient was the least of House's concerns.

"But for now," Cameron went on, picking up her pen, "Can you explain to me when the trouble started? Also I'll need a complete medical history of your family in as much detail as you can stand."

-

-

Wilson emerged from the shower wrapped in his bathrobe and rubbing his hair with a towel.

House was propped in front of the fire-place, his feet up on an ornately carved and padded foot stool that looked like it had just escaped a Jane Austin novel.

"I thought you were going to meet your patient?" Wilson asked, sitting down beside him in the second very comfortable, wing-back chair.

"Not necessary. Cameron took the history. In her usual ensemble."

"Her usual ensemble not cutting it anymore House-fashion approval wise?"

"Yes. She was supposed to be parading around in a bikini, just like Thirteen was supposed to, and Cuddy - in a French cut no less."

Wilson tried to hide his relief. Then tried to hide his disappointment at House's shunning of his patient. "I though we were trying to move beyond avoidance?"

House stopped reading and looked over at him. "_We_? If _I_ was we, then you're avoiding, too. But since we is _me_, I'm not avoiding. What's he going to tell me that's not here?"

"Okay, now I _know_ you're avoiding him. You never think the history is all there is to know. Everybody lies, House."

"In order to know what lies the patient might be telling, I need to know what he might or might not be telling the truth about in his chart."

Wilson gave up and rubbed his hair. "Still raining."

House glanced out the window. "My leg concurs."

Wilson felt bad for him. Since Mayfield, his pain levels had been steadily rising. When he was on a good case, it was almost tolerable - tolerable being according to House _"it's killing me". _"How has that been, anyway?"

House paid no attention. "I think our magnanimous host is being poisoned."

Wilson stared at him. "What makes you say so?"

"The symptoms fit."

"Do they fit anything else?"

House closed the chart. He had absorbed everything in it and it was of no more use. "What - poison isn't interesting enough for ya'?"

"Even if it is, I'm not sure - hey how are you going to test anything? Blood, tissues..?"

"Money bags set up a complete working lab' in his basement. Been there for a few years, after he got too scared to leave." He had been confined for several years, and never went anywhere. Everything he needed or wanted was imported by plane or boat.

"So he's _being_ poisoned, or he has gotten poisoned from something in the environment?"

House lit a cigar. "Don't know. I haven't got the history on the island or the house or its out-buildings."

Wilson stood up, taking a few steps toward the bathroom. "Fine. I'll stop bothering you, and cigar's are a no-no."

"What else am I going to do until you put out?"

Wilson retreated his steps and snatched the offending smoke stack from House's lips. "Guess you'll have to wait until I'm ready."

-

-

House was finally all but dragged down the curved staircase to meet his patient. Wilson, who had done the dragging, entered the room after him, closing the heavy door so House couldn't escape again.

The balding, gray skinned fellow was smiling at Hadley as she checked his heart rate. "Where did you find this amazing looking doctor?" He asked House when he entered.

The old fellow was sitting up in a bed big enough for a King and his queen, and his favorite polo-pony. The bedroom was four times the size of Wilson's whole apartment."

House turned around to address Wilson. "Why can't _you_ put me up in style?"

Wilson nodded patiently at House's ribs on his cramped bedroom space. "If you ever pay me back..."

House looked from his patient to Hadley. "Raffle." He said, answering the old fellows question. House didn't mince words. "I think you've been poisoned, Mister-" House suddenly couldn't remember the guy's name.

"Spencer Krampat." The old fellow extended a shaking hand. "You must be doctor House."

"I must be." House was sweating. He'd had to take the stairs sans wheelchair and his leg wasn't happy about it.

"What sort of poison?" Krampat asked. He looked very worried, his eyes bloodshot.

"Don't know yet, but from the long term symptoms, the discomfort in your extremities, and the other physical oddities you described to Doctor Cameron, it's a reasonable diagnosis."

"I've had seven other "reasonable diagnosis" since this all started." It was not a criticism. "I'm just tired of feeling like crap."

House nodded. "I know. We'll do a full blood panel, we'll analyze the food, the water, the plant-life around here. We'll eliminate anything that could be causing an allergic reaction."

"All those other doctors did that same."

House said sharply. "Yes - but they may have been idiots and missed something. So we're going to eliminate all of that, and then I can start working on the real cause."

A female servant opened the door and carried in a silver tray. A large pitcher of ice-water and a sparkling glass was left on Krampat's bedside table. He nodded his thanks and reached for the pitcher with shaking hands. Hadley quickly stepped forward and poured a glass for him. Imported, filtered fortified spring water splashed over ice cubes so blue, they might have been dyed just for looks.

Krampat smiled warmly at her. "A doctor, a beauty _and_ a lady. You're a lucky man, Doctor House."

House stood to leave. "Yes, even if I was a _woman_."

That seemed to confuse the man but he just drank the water.

-

-

"Doctor Wilson." Cuddy caught up to him on his way to the largest indoor dining hall he had ever seen. Lunch was about to be served.

Wilson kept walking but raised his eyebrows in a silent question when she fell into step beside him. "How's House?"

Wilson gave her words, or lack there-of more than a few seconds thought before answering. "How's House? Or how's his case?"

"Both."

"Right now the case is dead in the water. Please don't tell House I said that. He'll start hiding my underwear."

Cuddy gave him a look he couldn't quite place.

"What?"

"Thanks for the update on the case. House hides your underwear?"

Wilson realized what he'd just said. "Well, no, he doesn't, but I wouldn't put it passed him. He loves coming up with ever more clever or embarrassing ways to humiliate me when I least expect it."

"Really? You two sound like you're still in college."

"We weren't in college together. House is ten years older than me."

Cuddy quickened her pace so she wouldn't have to respond to her final words. "Then you sound like you're married to each other and, surprisingly, _happy_."

Wilson was left a trifle worried that his steadily more confusing feelings for House were showing on his face. But Cuddy and House had spoken of bikini's and what _else_? A micro panic came over him and he called after her, halting her in her tracks. "You're not going to _wear_ the bikini, are you?" He hated that it had come out sounding like a plea.

Cuddy stopped and turned back. Her mouth was open but her eyes, as shocked as they were, were shrewd. She knew, or suspected. "No-o-o..." She assured him. "Why would you care?"

When Wilson didn't answer, Cuddy sucked in a breath. "Oh my, Wilson, are you - you and House..? You're - ?"

"- No, not me and House." He looked at his feet. "Just _me_."

She searched his face, the blush, the small sadness nestled in his eyes, and the even smaller hope. "You are. You really _are_."

Now she sounded warmed over with sympathy. Or perhaps pity? Wilson couldn't be sure. "_Please_ don't tell him."

Cuddy pressed her lips together. "Of course I won't, but how is this going to...work out? I mean, House isn't - I mean, I thought you were,.._is_ he?"

"You mean gay?" Wilson finished the difficult question for her. "No. And neither was I, I _thought_." Wilson thought about it some more. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm not even _now_, I just...it's confusing. Terribly, horribly screwed up and confusing."

Cuddy thought she understood. People can grow on a person, making feelings change and grow as well, sometimes way passed too late to stop it or do anything about it. House had once grown on her before both Rachael's ever increasing needs and House's mental illness nipped it while it was still in the bud, raw and unable to open with spring love.

And now House was growing on Wilson, only for Wilson House was already in full bloom. House had grown on the poor sap. Cuddy sympathized. As hard and ass-stubborn a man as House was, there was something about him...If you were made of the right metals, he drew you in like a magnet. In fact, from the hopeless expression on Wilson's face, House hadn't just grown on him, he'd latched on and spread like a fungus.

"Keeping it to yourself won't make it any less so." It was her only advice. It probably wouldn't help either.

Wilson nodded. "If you hadn't asked me to come on this trip, I would have invited myself."

Cuddy nodded. Wilson was planning on telling him. She spread her hands. "Good luck."

-

-

Wilson brought a sandwich back for House who looked at it once, then shoved it in the room's small fridge. Even the fridge was tasteful, hidden as it was inside an upright chest of rich cherry wood.

House spent the next hour pacing in Wilson's room, watching him nibble on his own lunch of vegetables and juice. "A table spread for a fat king and his queen, and you pick raw vegetables?"

Wilson chewed contentedly. "I like vegetables. I like my digestive track and my blood cholesterol normal, not the consistency of sludge."

Wilson knew House could have paced and muttered to himself in his own room, but then House wouldn't have an audience and when House had a baffling medical case and needed to talk or merely vent, an audience was indispensable. Wilson didn't mind being that indispensable man.

"Every test negative." House scratched his forehead with one thumb while the other hand gripped his cane like a saber, using it to both drag his painful leg around the room and fling it this way and that while making a point. "That doesn't make sense at all."

"Why not?"

House stopped, giving him a sharp frown. "Because it's _not_. No one who looks as sick as he looks could be that text book."

"House, it's only been a day."

"Well usually by this time, I'd have come up with brilliance." He insisted. Then mumbled "A brilliant theory anyway, which in my case is followed by a brilliant cure."

Wilson didn't want to add any other encouraging but essentially useless comments that might provoke his friend further. Only friendly advice. "I think you need to take a break."

"I don't _want_ to take a break." House flung his cane toward the slightly open door. "I want my patient to..." House couldn't find the word, then settled on "get sicker, but in an obvious way. I need an epiphany." Then he swung the dangerous walking stick around to point it at Wilson. "Come on, talk to me. Yammer on like you always do, Mister Epiphany-maker. Your loud chewing is hurting my ears."

Chase was suddenly at the door. "Hey. Can you two tone down your lover's quarrel? Cameron and I are trying to take a nap."

House threw him a blatant face of doubt. "You guys do that in your sleep, huh?"

Chase shook his head and left, slamming the door behinds him. Wilson quipped. "You have such a subtly tender way with people."

House frowned. "Why did our host have to stick those two across the hall?"

"Jealous?" Wilson asked. House had always been slightly addicted on Cameron's addiction of him. He hoped House was over her, too.

"Don't be stupid."

Wilson refrained from reminding him that people came to him because he was the doctor who found what was not obvious. Returning to the previous discussion - "If I don't chew, it upsets my digestion, and I don't want to get sick. Being sick won't help me help you."

House stared at Wilson, a little taken aback, not by Wilson's typically health obsessive words, but by what House saw as an insightful but uncharacteristically reckless underlying idea. Even though he knew Wilson was completely unaware of any of it, he was tickled. "Are you suggesting I make him sicker on _purpose_, thereby changing something physically, thereby possibly revealing something previously un-noticed, even if it means risking the patient's life, because for me it's all about the puzzle, because I'm a heartless albeit ingenious ass?"

Wilson swallowed. What had he said? He decided the best course was to capitulate. "Not in those words, but I suppose you could give him a round of steroids, see what changes first."

"You mean as in his lymph's swelling up like watermelons, or his ridiculously strong heart finally cooperating by skipping a beat to two?"

Wilson tilted his head to one side. "Again, not in those words."

House shrugged and headed for the door. "If you say so, boss."

Wilson decided it might be prudent to follow. On the way down to their host's room - "Have you seen Cuddy or Thirteen since this morning?"

Wilson shook his head, deciding to keep his little chat with Cuddy under wraps. "No, but Cuddy isn't here specifically for the medical stuff, she's here -"

"- to make sure I don't kill the golden man behind one of the richest donations she's ever laid her eyes on. I can already see her pupils changing into dollar signs."

"Part of that money goes to keeping your department up and running."

"And to French-cut bikini's that she refuses to wear for me."

"For _you_?" So it was true. That made Wilson fumble a substantial chunk of his already hopeless hope.

House nodded once. "Yup. Part of the deal."

"Oh." When hope was dashed, try for humor. "Well, if you're desperate, I could always model my beige Speedo for you."

"Beige?" House asked. "A _flesh_ colored Speedo?"

Wilson smiled to himself. "'Course. I certainly didn't buy it for style."

"It's too cold to go swimming." House reminded him, eyes wary. "Even Money Bag's pool is too cold. And the indoor pool is being repaired."

Wilson said wistfully. "Damn." A mysterious twitch on his lip. "Ah, well, I guess it was brought for naught."

House stared at him for a few seconds. "I'm going to go check on my patient."

Wilson could feel House's eyes on him as he left the room, House not so much as leaving as side-winding out, regularly turning to watch Wilson while the rest of him more or less aimed for the door.

-

-

Cameron handed House the first blood results. "Everything looks normal."

"Where's Krampat?"

"He's having his afternoon bath."

"_Afternoon_ bath." House said, irritated that his host's penchant for cleanliness translated into a morning, afternoon _and_ evening bath. "At seventy-five, he's already pruned, how much more pruning does he want?"

"It's some sort of home-made therapy. Hot soaks to ease the aches." Cameron watched House's face. After Mayfield he still looked like House. More so like himself than he had prior to going there. Before, House's face had held a shaded, not quite all present in the room look that had started to scare the hell out of all of them. Insanity? House had always been afflicted with a little of that in a often humorous, sometimes surprising ingenious way. But clinical depression, hallucinations, and delusional psychosis had not crossed anyone's mind.

"Guess they can't hurt." He muttered.

Now that House was home, the far away, puzzled, slightly frightened expression was gone. Banished with psychotherapy and proper medication. Cameron had welcomed him back with a hug, which House, as usual, did not return. He'd endured it in his uncomfortable Housian-fashion, then nodded. It was about as affectionate as he had ever become with her.

Had she not fallen in love with Chase, she might have made a greater effort to alter that. Now hindsight revealed that, had she and her boss become involved, she herself had doubts she would have been able to _stay_ involved. A relationship with House would have been and most likely still was, a huge amount of work. Undoubtedly House had known that about himself more clearly than anyone. Perhaps by not responding to her romantically (despite all his lingering looks), House had been trying to spare her the heartache.

"Krampat says dinner's at eight."

House nodded absentmindedly, his fingers twiddling his bottom lip. Cameron waited. For a man so adverse to physical contact, she had observed this particular oral fixation, among others, all the years she'd worked for him.

"Anything wrong?"

House dropped his hand. "When I hired Thirteen, could you tell she was gay?"

Surprised at the abrupt turn of subject. "She's bi-sexual."

"Yes, I know, she works both sides of the street, the point is - could you _tell_?"

"Um, no, not really. I mean she never made a pass at me or talked about it."

House seemed relieved.

"Why?"

To her frustration he shook his head as though quickly shedding whatever had been on his mind. "No reason." Then he came to a decision. "Get the team together and meet me in the kitchen."

"Why?"

House screwed up his face like she was nuts. "'Cause that's where the food is of course. And they think _I'm_ loopy. Hop to it, Misses Aussie."

After all the years she had worked for him, and after all his illness, it was pleasant to know House still possessed a rough charm. Cameron watched him limp away. House was every bit as challenging, demanding and interesting as he used to be. He was still The Enigma.

-

-

Upon arriving House handed each of them a pair of sterile gloves and at least a dozen re-sealable plastic bags. "Here." he explained as they paraded passed. "We need a sample of every type of food in this place. Every fruit, every vegetable, meats, condiments, sweet, oil, sauce, booze, cheese or other plastic squeeze. I want scrapings from the taps and," House counted six in all, "the million or so refrigerators and freezers in here. Check for mouse and/or rat traps, and if there are _dead_ mice and/or rats, check them for disease. If there are _live_ mice or rats, put them out of their misery and check them, too."

Thirteen looked around in dismay. The kitchen was larger than her own apartment and staffed with eight people at least, who were all busy as bee's, preparing that evening's multi-course dine. Thirteen said "House this is going to take days."

House looked out the window over the ocean crashing against the rocks. It's raining, what else have you got to do?"

Cameron snapped on her gloves. She thought she understood. "You're thinking contamination."

"I'm thinking we have no idea what to think. Not yet. Besides scratch tests were all negative, so if it's not allergy, it's at least possible we're dealing with a some sort of contaminant." House limped from the room. "And yes, Thirteen, it'll take days, but today there is time to _start_ the tests, so start them and let me know when dinner's ready. I'm taking a nap."

-

-

Wilson turned when House entered his room. House had his own room, and his own door, (though the key for that door, according to Marguerite, had been lost years ago), but House just seemed to prefer hanging around Wilson's room most of the time.

In fact, except for sleeping, Wilson doubted House had spent enough time in his own bedroom that, if asked, he would be able to describe the wallpaper. "Still raining?" Wilson asked, putting aside his newspaper. The curtains were drawn.

House plopped in the chair next to him, reaching for the Scotch bottle which Wilson swiftly snatched back, earning him a House-scowl. House didn't fight for it, though. By now he had gotten into the habit of simply allowing Wilson to take care of his diet, and Wilson didn't seem to mind so neither did he. "Of course it's still raining, it's been raining for twenty-four hours - why should it stop now?"

House sounded tired. He looked tired. He was probably in pain. Wilson asked. "Patient?"

"Still sick. Still bathing. Well fed. Rich. _Old_." House rubbed his face. "But...he's a pretty decent old guy. I feel sorry for him."

"You feel sorry for him - why?"

"Because he's surrounded by servants but I haven't seen any family. Portraits of relations all over the place, but no wife, no kids, no siblings. You'd think even a buddy from the old days - whatever his old days were - would at least drop in on a sick friend. Krampat forks over huge money to fly expensive people in from other countries because he too scared to travel. He hasn't been out of this mausoleum in decades, and I haven't heard his phone ring even once since we arrived."

Wilson thought about it for a few seconds, coming to the realization that House was right. Krampat had no one around who wasn't a servant; people who were there to do a job and say nice things. Paid companions, but no friends. And, no, he hadn't heard the phone ring either. House was remarkably observant of other people for a guy who had himself always been kind of lonely most of his life. Maybe that's why House noted it so markedly. Maybe when you're rarely part of the crowd, you covet that companionship you yourself don't have. The tendency, Wilson reasoned, would then be to watch other people more closely, more often.

"You'll figure it out. You'll cure him and maybe he'll have the courage to travel again."

House didn't look hopeful, and Wilson knew House would dismiss his useless platitudes, and they were "Maybe." House said. "Or, more likely, he'll be alone for the rest of his life, which, if I can't cure him, will be short and miserable."

Wilson was thinking much the same about himself. And about House. Except for the being sick part. Loneliness could be like a sickness, though, and they had both had enough of that. "Yeah," He quietly agreed. "Who likes to be alone?"

XXXXXXXXX

Part III asap


	3. Chapter 3

Incompatible

Part III

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Post-Mayfield.

**Summary:** Angst, Relationships, solving a case, a tropical Island. Episodic

**Pairing:** House/Wilson, PRE-SLASH & SLASH. PLUS: Chase/Cameron, Thirteen and Cuddy (NOT paired)

**Rating:** ADULT MATURE Some swearing.

**Disclaimer:** The man with the delectable a$$, magnificent legs and cane doesn't belong to me...yadda, yadda...

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"We can't find anything in the food, water or other consumables." Thirteen reported to House.

House and Wilson were perched on Krampat's enormous outdoor marble-floored patio. The open air had a chill to it but at least it had finally stopped raining.

Wilson sipped some strong, excellent coffee, and House was working on licking the whipped cream off of a large mug of thick hot chocolate. Thirteen noted it. "Cocoa?" She asked.

"So-so??" House answered testily. "If you're old enough to sleep with both teams, I'm old enough for - " House paused. Then - "incredibly, I can't think of a sexual metaphor that combines hot chocolate and sex." House was a little surprised at himself. "Which means I'm off my game this morning." He shivered. "Damn miserable island."

House turned to let Wilson in on his grumble. "Fire-places in every room but no radiators?" House called over his shoulder to Krampat who was not present. "Hey, Krumpled or whatever your name is - I got two words for you - _central heating_."

Thirteen sighed. Either there was a soak in a Jacuzzi awaiting her or another round of lab tests on the horizon, and she was anxious to find out which. "You want me to get the team together?"

House stared into his mug. "Does the old guy have a sweet tooth?"

"We already checked all of the desserts and/or dessert ingredients. We even checked the sugar bin. Nothing."

"Did you check his room for hidden contraband. His regular physician banned sweets from his diet. We haven't seen him eat anything forbidden, but no one's ever that obedient. Check for a sugar stash."

Thirteen walked away and House called after her. "If you find any other sort of "stash", bring it here immediately. Along with a bong and some matches."

Wilson looked out over the crashing sea. "It's so beautiful."

House only grunted.

House's stomach did not share his own enthusiasm for the sight of rolling ocean swells. "Any new theories?" Wilson asked.

House shook his head. The case clearly had him flummoxed. "Doesn't make any sense. We've checked the water, food, environment, we've looked for poisons. He should be as healthy as an eight-five year-old horse, but he's still sick."

"Krampat's seventy-five."

"Whatever. Once you're on the down-hill curve, all that's left is to gather speed."

House's own fiftieth had just passed by a few short months ago. He'd spent it, in fact, in Mayfield. Wilson knew House hated birthdays. He had always told Wilson it was because he hated parties and birthday's were an especially lame reason to throw a party, since everyone shared their birthday with thirty million other people. That made it an ordinary day, not a special one. Still Wilson had taken him out for drinks once he was home as a belated Happy Birthday celebration/You're out of Mayfield combo'.

House had tolerated the reason for them, but enthusiastically downed the drinks. Wilson wondered if now the reason House despised birthdays was leaning more toward that House was now officially fifty-plus, and it was bothering him. It seemed to be. During their stay he had made several comments already on age and its devastating effects as to figure, mind and bedroom action.

Wilson could see it in his face. "You're depressed. I can tell. Don't let this case get to you."

Instantly on the defensive. "I'm not depressed, I'm pensive."

"You look sad."

House frowned. "Look again. This is my pensive face."

Wilson did. Definitely a little sad. Wilson knew House far better than House thought he did. "If you're concerned about losing your own sex appeal, House, you have nothing to worry about."

House looked at him sharply. Wilson wondered if he'd laid it on a little too thick for Wilson-normal. Too many words? The wrong words? Even so, he knew he was right. House was depressed about being fifty and still alone. And it wasn't only the alone part that was on his mind. From House's many comments about now being free to act like the "crazy loner everybody thought he was", he was feeling the pinch of his new label: Former Mental Patient. A hard tattoo to shake under the best of circumstances. But add that to House's sometimes insane-_appearing_ antics, his history of addictions and over-all scowly persona, the new label of "lone nut" was now more clearly marked and would easily stick.

But House was giving him the oddest look, like he was trying to see passed something. Wilson felt his heart-rate increase. Shit. Maybe he had laid it on too thickly. He wasn't ready to broach the subject. Not right now. "You okay?" Wilson was proud of himself. It had come out normal-perfect.

House nodded. "Thanks." He heaved himself to his feet and went inside.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. The _thanks_ had come out House-normal. Just a small thank you for his best friend trying to cheer him up, even if he hadn't succeeded. Wilson relaxed, laying back in the reclining chair. No suspicions from the great diagnostician yet. No one-way lines crossed today. When he would mark that line and then step over it, he had no idea.

-

-

House tracked Thirteen down in Krampat's room. Krampat's personal assistant had taken him on a wheel around the grounds, leaving Thirteen free to scrounge through every nook and cranny in the hangar-sized bedroom. Chase and Cameron had joined her.

House didn't even glance at the married fellows, bee-lining straight for Thirteen. Coming to halt in front of her he blurted "When you figured out you were gay, did you hide it and why?"

Thirteen was a little taken back.

Cameron and Chase continued the search, pretending they had heard nothing which fooled no one for a second. "Um," Hadley shook her head a bit at the bold inquiry. "Have you just figured out you're gay?"

House blinked in surprise. "No, I-"

"-then you _suspect_ you're gay?"

To Hadley's un-equaled delight, House blushed. No one, but _no one_ made House blush, but she'd just managed the miracle with a few well placed words. She found that very interesting.

"_No!_ Shut up and answer the question."

Hadley didn't bother to point out that she couldn't actual do both at the same time but - "Yes, I hid it for a while."

"Why?"

Thirteen looked at him like the House she knew had just left the room and a duplicate of inferior intelligence came in to take his place. "Are you _kidding_? Worry about how my family would react for one. Fear of losing my friends for second's. Scared how I was going to handle it. And I'm bisexual, not gay."

"Gay is fifty percent of it. What happened?"

Thirteen shrugged, and kept moving around the room, making House toddle after her in a zig-zag. "Eventually I told everyone. Some reacted well. My brother has been very supportive. My dad looked embarrassed and started sputtering. I lost some of my casual friends. My best friend was fine with it."

"Why was she fine with it?"

"_He_. Because he cared about me. He loved me." Thirteen straightened up from her search of the bottom shelves of a cupboard of books, wiping the dust from her gloved hands. "So, how's Wilson handling it?"

Puzzled, "Handling what?"

"Your confession."

House understood and said in a fierce, red-faced frowning undertone, "I haven't "confessed" a thing. I'm _not_ gay."

Thirteen lowered her voice. Jokes were done. Coming out was a scary thing. It was no laughing matter. "Then why the questions?" Her pretty green eyes searched his face. "You suspect Wilson might be gay?"

House shook his head to convince himself he was completely off-base. "Of course he's not gay. He's got three ex-wives and has gone through a dozen girlfriends since the last Misses Wilson handed him his walking papers. The man'll date anything in a skirt."

Thirteen felt a little sorry for House. If Wilson was coming out, House could very well be losing the only friend he ever had, depending on how he handled it. Or would House be broad minded enough to not only keep Wilson in his life but gain him as a lover as well?

Wilson had_ ex_-wives, and no current girlfriend despite all those other women. Despite Amber - whom everybody could see had been, personality-wise, a carbon copy of House. She, Thirteen, could see the signs, if House couldn't. "Take it from me, wives and girlfriends mean shit. If Wilson comes to you and lets you in on it - if _it_ exists - just try not to be an ass, okay? Just be a _friend_." She stripped off her gloves, tossing them in a nearby waste-basket. "Looks like this room is clean."

-

-

"Maybe it's mould." Cuddy suggested over dinner. The dinner of sea-food in wine sauce was excellent. The vegetables steamed and tossed in butter, spices and dill, were delicate. The soup was an understated cream of potato chowder, intelligently served _after_ the main course with french rolls to help remove the fish taste from all of their mouths. Dessert was lemon squares drizzled with a lightly sweet icing that topped it off perfectly and they, like everything else, were utterly divine.

House sat at the head of the table with Wilson to his right. Cuddy and Thirteen sat to his left respectively. Chase and Cameron chose to sit at the far end of the twenty foot dinning table "to make googly eyes ate each other" House had announced to the entire room. Chase's response to that had been to toss his rolled up napkin at House's head.

As was his habit, Krampat dined alone in his room.

House frowned down into the remnants of his chowder. "Did Krampat get the same meal as we did?" He asked a passing server, a man of no expression who glanced down at House in respectably, well-bred shock. Evidently speaking to the kitchen staff, other than when the subject was of food or drink, was in bad taste.

House didn't care and stared up at the numb waiter, waiting for an answer.

The disturbed fellow cleared his throat. "Master always eats what he serves his guests."

"Exactly?"

"Yes, sir, _Exactly_." The fellow, his arms full of a tray covered in dirty plates, glided away with relief.

House sighed through his nose. "If it were anything in the food, we'd all be sick by now. We've been here three days. Plenty of time for food poisoning to show up in our stomachs - and then in our toilets."

Cuddy said it again. "House? Mould."

House gave her a look. "No thanks. Trying to cut down." The joke fell flat. "There's no evidence of that, but it's as good a possibility as anything else we haven't thought of, which must be a library full of things, 'cause we've tested for everything that's likely and some stuff that isn't."

Wilson nibbled on his lemon square, watching House out of the corner of his eye.

Thirteen watched Wilson watch House. House was looking haggard. But that wasn't an uncommon state for her boss. All the fellows at one time or another had seen House drunk, hung-over, on an addict high, on a down-spiral into detox, and most recently, in the mental throes of a frightening psychosis. Now they were seeing him on anti-psychotic medications, non-narcotic pain killers and a few other med's, one of which she knew was an anti-depressant. Somehow, all of those pills, though bringing him out of his insanity, had done nothing to alter anything else about the man. He was still eccentric, insufferable, demanding, and brilliant. And still in a lot of pain.

Thirteen also watched Wilson watch _over_ their boss. Wilson always did. As far as she or anyone knew, he always had. Somewhere during their years as friends, Wilson had appointed himself House's keeper. It was a job Wilson seemed to take as a given to having House's friendship; to keeping House safe. It was a task Wilson took to heart.

Thirteen sipped her coffee, fore-going dessert. They were an unusual and interesting duo. No one who didn't love House could have done such a job this long. If Wilson wasn't _in _love with House, he loved him far more than was ordinary, even between best friends. And the way Wilson kept looking over at House, even those moments when it wasn't necessary, Thirteen concluded that House was right to at least suspect something had changed with his friend.

House was still discussing the possibilities of fungi with Cuddy. "We took scrapings from everything. It's not mould."

"We only have three more days here." Cuddy pushed. It was a useless statement. House knew how much time he had, and pushing rarely inspired creative brilliance in even the brilliant diagnostician. With House, pushing just got his back up and raised the hackles on his neck, in turn raising the hackles on anyone around him as they braced themselves for the explosion of temper.

Thirteen wasn't disappointed. "I _know_ how much time we have." House shouted at her, getting to his feet and gimping away as fast as his bad leg would allow. He was limping very badly since their arrival on the island - on Krampat's tiny, privately owned island four miles west from the big, main one. It was a damp, rainy place with ceaseless winds and nights so cold, they chilled you through to the bone. Thirteen kept her fire-place going day and night to ward off the shivers. House would have to be in agony by now.

Cuddy stormed after him, her fashionable heels echoing in the great room, a dining area that was almost all windows to afford a grand view, but which also kept the air uncomfortably cool. Thirteen was glad she was not the one forced to chase after House's angry retreating figure. Seeing Wilson's pained expression, his brow knitted with worry, was much more entertaining. She shivered. How Krampat's old bones could stand the weather she didn't know.

"House. This isn't like you." Cuddy easily caught up to House in the foyer outside the dining hall. their voices could be heard through out the main floor. "It's like you're giving up."

House matched her for volume. "If I was giving up, I'd be renting a plane and getting off this forsaken rock." He tried to out-pace her.

Cuddy followed him step for step and shout for shout. "Bullshit. I know you. By now you would have postulated a dozen theories and tried half as many treatments. You've done nothing but scrape taps and inspect the food."

True, he had been going about investigating this medical mystery not in his usual way. But neither did he have his complete team with him. Foreman wasn't here, Kutner..never would be again. What he wouldn't give for that kid's sharp brain right now. House looked away from Cuddy to the stairs he was going to have to drag his aching leg up in a few minutes. If he could delay that extra special pain by arguing with Cuddy for a bit, he was game. "I thought you'd be happy with the new me. Playing it safe, avoiding law suits, playing by the rules. Now you want me to waltz in blind-folded?" House waved his free arm around. "I haven't treated him for anything because as far as I can tell, there's nothing wrong with him. But, hell, if you want me to play roulette, I'll shoot him full of Prednisone and Interferon."

Cuddy looked squarely at him, her tone now all authoritative and in control. That's what Cuddy sometimes did, she out-yelled him to either halt him in his tracks or bump start him on the road to a cure. Then she backed off to see what House would come up with. It was her only weapon in the differential war. "Don't be stupid. You're missing something."

House's own words. It was a calculated move on her part. Occasionally House simply needed to start looking at things differently, or begin looking differently at how he looked at things.

House came back down to earth where all was much quieter. "'Course there is. I just don't know what."

-

-

"Everything okay?" Wilson asked, trying to keep it casual as he entered his room. House would be there, of course, sitting in front of the fire.

He was. "Sure." Which meant all was not okay by a long shot.

The leg. It had to be the leg causing all this tension and anger. "You know, Eduardo would be only too happy to wheel you up and down these stairs whenever you asked."

"Eduardo scares me, he's as big as a moose."

"Have you ever seen a moose? I think the moose has it over on him."

House turned his head to look around the wing-back chair. "What are you doing here?"

"This is _my_ room."

House hadn't meant that of course, but he didn't say anything more.

"Same question." Wilson said as he sat down in the other chair. The fire was lit, probably by a servant. They seemed to magically know when ever someone might want their room heated up. Through out the mansion, fires just appeared in hearths seemingly out of no where.

Wilson wanted a truthful answer to his first query. House just lifted his nose toward his own right knee. "Just,...usual...leg." A great sigh. "Nolan's pain killers aren't doing shit."

"I thought the pain helped you think?"

"A little pain helps me focus. This amount blanks me out. I can't put one and one together. I can't even put one and _none _together."

"I'm sure Krampat has a staff masseuse."

House shook his head. "Hot soak." He announced and disappeared into the bathroom.

"There's Epsom salts on the shelf. Use some." Epsom salts eased aches and pains, and Wilson hoped it would help House. He heard the water run and splashing, then a moment later House emerged in a towel. He wasn't dripping. He had evidently not even gotten in the tub. "Krampat imports everything. He eats shellfish and caviar by the truck load."

Wilson tried to keep his eyes on House's face and not on the small towel he was holding around his naked body. "Yes, but you already tested every scrap of food in the place."

House waved away Wilson's reminder. "I know. But the man bathes _three times_ a day. So what is he putting in his bath water?" House started for the door leading into the hallway. He didn't even have his cane.

"House..."

An irritated - "_What_?" House turned. "I've got a patient to cure."

Wilson waved his hand to House's lower half. "In that?"

House looked down at himself. 'Right." He limped back to the bathroom.

-

-

House barged into Krampat's bathroom. "Where are the salts you've been adding to your bath water?"

Krampat, his eyes round with surprise at his evening bath being so rudely interrupted, never-the-less answered the question. "On the shelf." The round pool-like bathtub was filled with hills of snowy white bubbles that were spilling out onto the floor. Krampat was nibbling on a half head of cabbage. Above his head hung a carousel of crystals of varying shapes, all dancing in the rising warm convection of air and sending a light show of tiny white stars across everything in the room. The shelf was at one end of the room, its glass layers clouded with condensation.

House stared at the odd scene of Krampat and his bathroom for a few seconds then, eyeing the many bottles of salts and other substances on display on said shelf, asked "Which jar is it?"

"The blue one."

House took it down. "Don't put any more of this stuff in your baths until I say so."

Krampat did not understand but this was the genius doctor who he was paying over a lot of money to help him. "Okay, doctor. What-what ever you say." And whispered to his valet after House left, "That crippled man is very odd."

House descended the three levels to the basement where Krampat had his laboratory of long standing. Cameron was the only one present, and he thrust the bottle into her hand. "Thelassotherapy." he said.

Cameron looked at the heavy, etched glass flask. "What?"

"Krampat's been putting this stuff in his bath water for years. It could explain his symptoms."

"What is it?"

"Probably some sort of dried sea algae - Karenia Brevis I'm guessing, dyed blue to look pretty. They produce brevatoxic polyethers. Krampat might be suffering from chronic neurotoxic shellfish poisoning."

Cameron was impressed. They'd checked the water, but not the bath water. And not the stuff Krampat was putting into the bath water. "I'll let you know."

-

-

Wilson was glad to see House celebrating, and didn't protest when House poured himself a second tumbler of bourbon. House had kept both drinks to less than two fingers deep. He was being responsible and, Wilson thought (himself several drinks in the lead and looking over at his slightly drunken friend through a haze of happy), thought House looked awfully cute, too.

"Hey," He was slurring just a little now. "I knew you could do it."

House knocked back the second half of his second drink, only half listening to what Wilson was saying. He was more concerned with where Wilson was looking. When Wilson glanced out the window, with lightening fast movements House sloshed another drink into his own glass and set it down on the carpet beside him, out of sight, then replaced the bottle where it had previously sat. Not even an extra out of place liquid ring on the fine wood gave away his little theft. "'Course. I'm the genius."

Wilson raised his glass to his friend once more. "Yes, you are. My genius."

House blinked at the unusual reference. There was still the Wilson puzzle to sort out. "Have another drink, Wilson." What else might Wilson say if the alcohol was topped up just a little more?

"Mm, better not. I'm feeling pretty wasted already."

"If you can't get wasted, why go anywhere?"

Wilson seemed to think that made a whole lot of sense and poured himself one more. "Cheers, Housie'."

House watched his friend closely. _Housie_? To his disappointment, Wilson leaned his head back against the chair and his eyes dropped closed. He was out in under a minute.

House swallowed his third and final drink, setting the glass on the table. "Damn." With nothing else to do, he went to bed.

-

-

Cameron's news was not the confirmation he had hoped for. "House." She handed him the result. "It is Karenia Brevis, but they're dead - meaning their polyetheric properties are inert. Essentially all this stuff is, is the crushed skeletal remains of sea algae. No residual toxin at all. Krampat could use a whole jar of this stuff in his bath, and all it would do for him is dye his skin blue."

House looked a bit crestfallen.

"Sorry."

House ordered up a round of broad spectrum antibiotics for Krampat.

Thirteen administered the treatment which Krampat accepted though insisting that his previous doctors had done the same resulting in no change. "Can I have my blue bath salts back now, Doctor Thirteen?" His face told her what an odd name he thought it was.

"It's Doctor Hadley actually and, yes, we'll get that back to you right away."

"Thank you dear."

-

-

Cameron met Hadley outside Krampat's room. "How is he?"

Thirteen shrugged. "No better. House ordered up antibiotics. Won't do any good."

"How's House?"

Thirteen expected the question. Allison was playing with fire in her relationship with Robert Chase. They were married, yet Cameron still asked after House regularly. "Where's Chase?"

"In our room. Reading, I think."

Thirteen decided to let Cameron in on how ridiculous she was being. "House is in the midst of a love affair and he doesn't even know it."

Cameron looked uncomfortable. "W-what do you mean?"

Thirteen caught her mistake. "Relax, I don't mean you." She found it curious that Cameron would think so, however. "Someone is definitely interested in House and he's so oblivious, if it wasn't so sad, it would be funny."

Cameron relaxed again. "Oh, he and Cuddy have played that game for years. They like flirting. It's harmless."

"Wasn't talking about Cuddy." Thirteen wasn't going to out and out say it but she figured maybe Wilson needed a little help. Maybe a rumor wouldn't be such a bad thing. And Cameron was a shameless gossip.

Cameron stared back at Thirteen's inscrutable expression. "Then who?"

Thirteen figured the blankness of her face itself ought to be enough. Cameron would guess the rest.

"You don't mean..?" Cameron shook her head, not sure if she was happy for them or devastated for herself. "But Wilson's straight. And I know House is straight."

Thirteen was more perceptive than people gave her credit for. "You're upset about this news."

Cameron was quick to deny it. What was really bothering her? She had loved House once. She knew she did love Chase now. But still, she had always looked back to,...to,...to see if something had changed in House. To see if he was better, less alone, less unhappy. Thus far she had not seen that in him, before or after Mayfield. Not real, deep happiness. Who really gets that anyway? "I know it sounds weird, but I want...to be there the day House gets happy."

"Maybe House wasn't made to be happy - not like the rest of us. I think he's about as happy as he'll ever be. Mayfield stopped the hallucinations, eased back his throttle a bit, but he's still the same, grouchy slightly insane genius. How does Chase feel about your mooning after your old boss?"

"I'm not mooning. I love Chase."

Thirteen didn't argue the point further. "Look, I don't know what's going on between House and Wilson - if anything - but straight or not, one thing's for certain - it's obvious to even an idiot that they love each other."

-

-

House returned to Wilson's room in as foul a mood as Wilson had ever seen him.

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with this patient."

House paced, his limp so acute, even Wilson winced with every step. "Why don't you sit down? Relax for a bit."

House threw him an impatient hand. "Because there's two days left and I'm no closer to knowing what he has. I'm no closer to even guessing what it could be."

"House, not everyone can know everything all the time."

"I'm not leaving until I figure this out."

Wilson hadn't expected that. "You mean you're going to live here until you cure him?"

"Or until he dies, whichever comes first."

"That's nuts."

"Well, if the nut fits - "

Wilson was feeling that old, familiar sense of panicked futility, that well treaded ground where House decides on a course of action and sticks to it no matter how it might harm him, his career or those around him. As good as it felt to see House much the same as before, sometimes it also felt like crap. "You want to ruin your career? How long do you think the board will approve this decision? You'll be out of a job in a week."

"Cuddy will vouch for me."

"Cuddy is one person. They do not need an unanimous decision to give you the boot."

"She's the Dean, they always listen to her. Cuddy'll never let me go, I'm her pet freak."

Wilson hated to resort to painful reminders but "House, you've been back less than a year. How do you think it will look to them if you, I hate to say it but - a former mental patient, stubbornly hangs around Krampat island while your department gets neglected? Cure or no cure, you'll get sacked."

Wilson could see he had hurt House with the mental patient crack. "Please think about this before you do anything -"

"- _crazy_??" House prompted bitterly.

"I was going to say foolish."

House stopped his intermittent pacing and stared at his friend.

"Please?" Wilson said.

House looked at his cane then his shoes, then the wall, searching for an answer. "Fine, I'll go home whether he's cured or not." It had been an empty threat. He was too scared to be alone anymore, too afraid of his own mind's tendencies to breakage. And too old to push his own physical boundaries any more than they had recently been pushed. House was simply too tired to stretch himself the way he used to, and that was the most depressing thing of all. He was getting old.

Wilson was immensely relieved. "Thank you."

"Why does this matter to you so much anyway? It's not your department."

"No, but you're my friend. _You _matter to me."

House frowned at the emotional turn the conversation was taking. "God, you're annoying!" He whined, but at least he didn't leave.

Wilson smiled just a trifle, just a knowing twitch. "I know." House had complained without really complaining. He respected and, Wilson knew, appreciated Wilson's interference and advice. house relied on Wilson to keep him grounded; to care about him. Wilson was so glad House felt that way.

House stared at him. "And bossy."

"Uh huh." Wilson stepped closer. "I am." So glad.

If House noticed Wilson's inch by inch advancement, he didn't mention it, but he was on a roll. "And a hair blow-drying, noisy nail-clipping, talking to his girlfriend in the dark pain in the ass."

"Yes, but at least Amber listened to me without interrupting."

House was boiling with irritation at Wilson's soothing answers when he was still itching to argue. "Stop being so _nice. _It drives me crazy."

Wilson, ridiculously calm, was within a few feet now. "Sorry." House liked that Wilson was so damn nice. He liked and hated it all at the same time. No one said loving House would be a cake walk.

House was quietly hysterical with Wilson's refusal to yell back. "Every conversation with you is one long drawn out study in frustration." His face red with the back-pressure of Wilson's pastoral expression.

"I know. I'm impossible." Wilson was within a foot of House now. He smiled like he harbored the secret to life, love and happiness, if only House would shut up long enough to hear it.

Simmering in his own frustration with the case, and irritation at Wilson's refusal to argue back any further, House - ignorant to anything but his own problem - threw up his hands in afflicted surrender. "What the hell is the _matter_ with you? I can't think. _Help_ me, you idiot."

To House's quiet shock, Wilson took his cheeks in both hands and kissed him softly on the mouth. When Wilson let him go, he said. "That's what I'm here for."

-

-

Across the hall Chase listened as House and Wilson argued for the fifth time since arriving on the island. He deeply regretted offering to come on this trip. Even Cameron had ruined it for them by insisting on helping with almost every differential and test. It was supposed to be a working holiday. So far Cameron had done the work, and he'd had the holiday - largely alone.

Cameron entered the spacious bedroom and Chase barely acknowledged her presence. "Done stalking House for today?" He asked bitterly.

Cameron sighed. "I have not been stalking House. I've been working."

"Yeah, in the lab, every day. Every hour of every day in fact. This was supposed to be a week of fun, too."

"I can't help it if House is a slave driver."

"Apparently you also can't help still being in puppy love with him." Chase turned the pages of his book, no longer interested in its contents.

"I am not-"

"- Why did you marry me?"

Cameron paused at the sudden open ended question. "Because I love you."

Chase tossed the book aside. "It's hard to tell, you know. We dated for years, been married for another, but you still can't let go of House."

"I have let go of him."

He shook his head. "No you haven't. Not completely. You still do his billing, not getting paid for it either, I might add."

"Cuddy hired me to do that."

"Yeah, once, two years ago. But there you are, still doing it like his faithful little blinking _groupie_." He slid off the bed and walked over to her.

Cameron felt the smallest twinge of guilt. Chase was right, but - "That's not fair."

"You requested this room, didn't you? In a mansion the size of the Pentagon, we were put in a room directly across the hall from House's. Tell me that was a coincidence."

"Just because I don't love him doesn't mean I don't care what happens to him."

Chase crossed his arms and stood in front of her. "Let's request another room, then." He gestured to their closed door. "Just listen to them fighting. He and Wilson argue _every _day. It's like vacationing with Abbot and Costello - I haven't gotten a decent sleep since we arrived."

Cameron tried to brush the whole discussion aside, stepping around him. "You're being childish."

Chase took her arm, making her stand still and hear him out. "No! I'm sick of competing with a man you went on _one_ date with five years ago. You and I are perfectly compatible. Do you know how hard that is to find?"

Cameron bit her lip. It was unfair. She just couldn't stop herself. "I can't help but worry about him sometimes. I want to see him happy. It kills me to see him so miserable."

"I'm miserable. Does that get a rise of any sort?"

"This is ridiculous."

"You can't give me a single straight answer, can you?" Chase gathered up his windbreaker. Their room was toasty with the fire going day and night, but the halls were damp and cool. "I'm going to go request a change of room. You coming or staying?"

"Chase, please-" Cameron heard something, or rather didn't. "Hey, the arguing has stopped."

Chase listened. "Good. Maybe we'll have some peace and quiet for a while."

Cameron looked into her husband's troubled eyes. "Please try to understand this and _me_ _with_ this. I was very deeply in love with House back then. It's been hard to be around him, to work in the same hospital even without at least once in a while, satisfying myself that he's okay. I need that. I need to know House is going to be okay. I'm _not_ going to try and make it happen, I don't want to rescue him but - I want to be there when it does happen. It's important to me that someone I cared that deeply about doesn't end up alone."

Chase stared back. "Fine. We'll stay here, but from now on, you spend more time with me. You care if I'm happy, don't you?" He had once spent some months in company with Cameron, working with her, but who at the time had spurned his advances. Chase understood a bit what unrequited love was like. It sucked.

Cameron brushed his hair with her fingers. "Of course I do."

It was then they both noticed that the room across the hall had fallen completely silent. "They're awfully quiet all of a sudden." She said. "What do you think they're doing?"

XX

Part IV asap


	4. Chapter 4

Incompatible

Part IV

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Post-Mayfield.

**Summary:** Angst, Relationships, solving a case, a tropical Island. Episodic

**Pairing:** House/Wilson, PRE-SLASH & SLASH. PLUS: Chase/Cameron, Thirteen and Cuddy (NOT paired)

**Rating:** ADULT MATURE Some swearing.

**Disclaimer:** The man with the delectable a$$, magnificent legs and cane doesn't belong to me...yadda, yadda...

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For a moment House stared at his friend like he had grown extra limbs. But instead of sputtering out why's, wiping his mouth or shouting, House, with a growing smile of mirth, simply said "I _knew_ it!"

Then with one eye on Wilson and the other on where he was going, he hitched around the room aimlessly, every-so-often scrutinizing his friend with perplexed eyes as though he had just dug up a new species of dinosaur. House stopped his wandering and came back to stand stock still before Wilson, looking him over.

Wilson, hands on hips, stared back, waiting - getting impatient. "Are you done examining me as though I were the missing link?"

House said "I thought I'd imagined it. I thought I had to be reading you wrong, but-"

"- no, you weren't. And it's been killing me for months."

House had made no move toward him or hinted as to a like response.

"I guess the _spit's_ hit the fan now, huh?" Wilson wondered if he'd just blown the whole friendship to hell. "Look, try not to freak out about this-"

"-My best friend of fifteen years just planted one on my lips, you have to expect a little bit of a freak-out."

"How much freak out?"

"Not enough to clip my wings, but enough to ruffle my feathers." He quipped. "And enough to need a good belt or two." House wandered over to the side bar.

"Pour me one, too."

House looked back questioningly.

Wilson walked over and up-turned two fresh glasses. "I just kissed my best friend of fifteen years on the _mouth_." He added. "Make mine a double."

House poured them both each a half glass of the expensive Scotch. Dropping his cane, he limped toward the fire-place chairs, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. "Come one, take a load off - your lips must be exhausted."

Wilson plopped down next to House. All that lay between them was the booze table. That could be a good or a bad thing. "Actually," Wilson answered, "they were just warming up."

House downed half the tumbler in one gulp. "So? What _was_ that, exactly?"

"Exactly? A kiss."

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out for myself." House said testily. "I mean - what now? Are you going to slip into something more gay? Invite me into your bed? Propose?"

"I was thinking we'd start with, best friends - as always - but now with benefits."

House hadn't expected it to be put so plainly. He wasn't completely comfortable with a stark raving, hot-for-his-body Wilson. A few more jokes parleyed back and forth would have suited his palate better. House drained his glass. "You know I like Cuddy, right?"

Wilson nodded, his heart shaking in his chest. House had always liked Cuddy. Cuddy had always liked House. And that's the way it had always been. Wilson nodded. "Yes, for years and years...and years and _years_." He paused, giving House a pointed stare. "And _**years."**_

"I'm pacing myself."

"Agreed, only you've been walking backwards."

House up-ended the Scotch bottle and chugged an other ounce or two. The liquor had nudged his comfort level up a notch, and his spinning head had finally caught up to Wilson's fast-forward life moment. "So now the question is...are you...?"

"In love?" Wilson sighed. "Pretty much. Sort of hopelessly I think." _But not without hope, I hope. _

House took a deep breath. He suddenly sounded very depressed. "Ah Wilson, Wilson....why did you have to go and do that?" As if his life wasn't already mixed up, sad and depressing.

-

-

Thirteen joined Cuddy in the spacious Great Hearth room. It was her first time in a home so massive that it contained a special room specifically for housing an enormous, two-sided volcanic glass hearth that filled the entire center of the room. A blazing soft wood fire suspended all with in a glorious soaking heat. Surrounding the fantastic fireplace were a dozen tall, wing-back chairs, arranged in cozy pairs, each with its own footstool and drink table between. Krampat understood and catered to not only luxury, but his guests every comfort.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked the Dean, and took a seat, putting up her feet to cook the chill out of her toes. Open-toed shoes had not been a good idea. She had failed to pack a single pair of proper footwear. At least she had remembered a pair or two of summer socks.

Cuddy fingered the page in her book, offering a perfunctory welcoming smile. "How's the case? What's House doing?"

Thirteen shrugged. "He's thinking...in Wilson's room."

Cuddy thought it a somewhat odd answer. "Why isn't he doing his thinking in Krampat's room."

"Because Wilson isn't in Krampat's room?" Let the big boss digest that one. Thirteen was enjoying this little round-about game of Guess Who's Doing Who. It was a nice change someone's sex life besides her won was on the gossip menu.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "Looking for an epiphany, huh?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

Cuddy thrust her book aside. "What's going on? Is House on pills again? If Wilson so much as writes him a prescription for a single Vicodin, I'll-"

"-House isn't on pills. Believe me, he's miserable enough to prove he's pill-free."

Cuddy looked a bit guilty. "Oh. How much pain is he in?"

Thirteen stretched, interlinking her fingers and raising her arms high above her head. "I don't know, but I'm sure Wilson's got House in hand." Yes, this was fun.

Cuddy confessed. "I used to think that would be me. Taking on House, but in a nice way, though. Me and House, not that he's nice but -" Cuddy shrugged.

Thirteen mused it over. That's the Cuddy was about House. It all came down to a shrug. Thirteen suspected as much. Cuddy had been playing House's heart strings for a long time. Her own tune to her own beat. She was a great boss, but as a potential partner-for-life, she struck Thirteen as rather fickle.

Cuddy might possibly be happy with House in her life, if she felt she could control him - or change him - enough, but Thirteen strongly believed that House would ultimately not find real happiness with Cuddy.

Thirteen had worked for House for almost three years and she believed she had come to recognize that House was a man who required only three things in life: A mystery to solve, someone to love and care for him, and someone to allow him the freedom to do exactly as he pleased or needed to solve the mystery while being loved and cared for.

House needed a person who adored him despite, besides and no-matter about his creative genius, his miserable pain-filled days, his slightly cracked mental state, his crude-talking ways, and his daily dose of concentrated emotionally and physically demanding neediness.

House needed Wilson. And since he and Wilson were already together in almost every way but one...

Thirteen heard the wistfulness in Cuddy's voice. Wistful as one might be about an old friend they had bumped into whom they had at once time been very fond of. Was Cuddy fond of House? Yes. Did she love him, the kind of layered strength a person would need to love a man like House? Unlikely.

Cuddy manufactured and micro-managed her life, an impossible state for a man like House to live under. He would be feel stifled. It would be like trying to collar an old, cantankerous lion - it would choke the life out of him.

The things Cuddy wanted to love she collected, like her friends and her new daughter. House was a beast far too wild for most people to gather to their breast without getting scratched. House might be made of sturdy enough material to make a good, lasting friend-plus-sex-lover, but a doting father and attentive husband?...

Wilson understood all that. "So?" Thirteen asked. "What happened between you and House? Or _didn't_ happen?"

Cuddy shrugged. "House is insane and an ass. Loveable but impossible. One thing happened a long time ago. Since then, nothing's happened. Nothing will happen."

Cuddy had sounded very sure about it. "Is that because you're seeing that other guy?"

Cuddy bit her lip. "Don't tell House, okay? I care about House - I love him, but I don't _love_ him. Maybe I never did, I don't know. And it wouldn't work anyway. I'll find some way to tell him when I'm ready. I really don't want to hurt him if I don't have to."

Maybe you ought not to have dragged it out for a dozen years then. Thirteen nodded. "No, of course I won't say anything."

Secretly she was pleased. Wilson had a clear field and he didn't even know it, and House's choices had been removed from the game and yet he had no idea of that. Thirteen didn't think this next chapter would play out easily for either of them. Poor Wilson. Poor House.

God, she missed Foreman. All the topsy-turvy relationships swirling around her made her grateful for the simple but pleasing rapport she had with him. When she got home, she was going to jump his bones from here to Christmas.

Thirteen was suddenly deeply grateful that when it came to matters of love, right now she had it easy. Thirteen hadn't said as much to Foreman for a long time. Thirteen excused her self and went to look for a phone. Did Krampat allow his guests to make personal calls to the U.S.?

-

-

"Why did you have to go and _do_ that?" House asked again.

That hurt. "I thought it was a pretty nice kiss."

House stood, back on his feet and moving around the room as though it might assist his mind in working out this brand new problem. "I didn't say it sucked."

"Then what..?" Wilson stood up and followed.

"This is a new complication I don't need in my life. Are you sure you're gay? Maybe you're sick."

"I'm not sick and I'm not actually gay either I don't think. I just..." Wilson struggled to find the right word..."fell in love." Wilson thrust open palms toward his newest love-interest to emphasize his position. "It happens."

House looked out to the over-cast day. Rain-laden clouds hung low over the island, keeping out the sun and holding in the miserably damp chill. Just the way he felt. "I don't know what to do about this."

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you don't need to do anything about it, except explore it a little?" Wilson walked over to him and to put his hand on House's left shoulder, the muscles of which bunched up immediately. House stepped away.

Wilson felt crushed. "You don't feel a thing? After fifteen years? Fifteen years of gay references and jokes I might add."

"Yes, _jokes_." House underlined the second word.

"Every one of them?" Wilson followed House's slow retreat around the room, keeping just a pace or two behind his erratic, gimping course. Two schooner's in passive engagement. "You didn't experience, in fifteen years, one second of curiosity over what it might be like for you and me -?"

"-No." House said, though his expression seemed more cornered than convinced.

In fact, he hadn't sounded very sure at all. Wilson had to make an in-road, a crack, wedge himself in somehow so House could see and maybe even feel that them together would not be a bad thing. "You don't love me at all?"

House looked at him, a tiny angry pinch between his brows, then looked away. "Of course I love you. I just never loved you _that_ way."

"What way, then?"

House seemed even more depressed than before, and now the cornered expression was replaced by alarm. "I have to pack up, and go treat my patient."

Wilson knew it was House's way of distracting himself from what he saw as an enormous problem, and to escape the oppressive emotions he often found so difficult to shoulder. With a heavy heart, Wilson let him go.

-

-

"No change." Thirteen said, handing him the results of the latest lab. Numbers on paper. Normal but not.

Cameron was packing, as was Cuddy and the rest of the team. Only Thirteen stayed by the patient. She had packed the night before, anxious to get home and see Foreman.

House nodded, fingering the paper in his hand, not really looking at it. Thirteen could see the tension in the face, the extra degree of slant to his usually lop-sided three-legged stance. "Wilson told you, didn't he?" She said.

House was shaken from his reverie, staring at her for a few seconds. "How did you know-?"

"House, you've been dancing around each other for years. It was just a matter of time."

"A biased observation, since you've tangoed in both corners all your life."

"Everyone see's it, it's not just me. God, the _janitor _see's it." Thirteen felt sorry for him, but mostly for Wilson. "You make all these sexual references about each other, you obsesses over each other's outside relationships-"

"-That's just _me_. Wilson doesn't care what I do. And I only care because he dates air-headed idiots, and then marries them - and then divorces them with a big, fat check then mopes for a year."

"Give me a break." Thirteen dismissed his protest. "You _both_ obsess, just differently. Wilson worries about you all the time - you call it interference. You follow him around on dates so you can get the lay of the land about his sex-life. _Real_ straight guys don't do that, House. Straight guys cheer each other on when they're getting some. _You_ freak-out."

House was looking everywhere but at her. Suddenly he turned and limped away as quickly as he could, which was not too quickly with his leg the way it was.

Much to his annoyance, Thirteen simply matched his pace and kept talking, though House wasn't listening or was at least trying not to. She didn't care. "I also think when Wilson finally took up with Amber and it seemed to not only be working but healthy - you were stunned. On top of that you recognized that her personality, intelligence, attitude, aggressiveness were dead-on matches for your own; that Wilson was actually dating _you_ by proxy."

"You're forgetting one thing. Amber also hated me. I _don't_ hate me. And when Amber died, _Wilson_ hated me."

"We both know you're not that blind. Wilson also came back and we both know why. Because he thought you might be next. Look at how he reacted when his girlfriend of four months died? He fell apart. He's known and loved you for over a decade. He ran because your death _terrifies_ him."

"He built a shrine to her in his office. He worships at the Amber altar every night."

"That's guilt and stop deflecting, I'm right and you damn well know it. You make way too many gay zingers to not be just a little curious."

"Shut up. I've already had my psych evaluation with Nolan. He knows me pretty well, and he's not in love with me either."

"You're an idiot. Wilson is perfect for you. He loves you even though you're a son-of-a-bitch."

"His loss."

"_Your_ loss, you idiot."

House stopped in the middle of the mansion's front foyer. He turned to her and yelled. "I'M _**NOT**_ IN _**LOVE**_ WITH _**WILSON**_!"

The words echoed around the room, coming back to their ears. Even the echoes' sounded desperately put across, like they were trying to convince the walls. House was frantic with denial.

Several of Krampat's staff working on the main level had dropped what they were doing and wandered to the front of the house when they heard the two physicians yelling at each other.

House looked around. They had attracted an audience.

"You _could_ be." Thirteen said as it a woman who had experienced such a state personally. "You're just too much of a pussy to try."

House did not react to the insult, which told Thirteen that she had guessed right, and though it was a little cruel to underline it - "Cuddy is seeing someone." Despite House's sudden lost expression, it needed to be said. "So if you're waiting around trying to figure out how to figure yourself into her life, you're wasting your time."

House narrowed his eyes at her. "How do _you_ know she seeing someone?"

In for a penny, in for a dismissal. "Because she told me." Let House put a tail on his boss to find out who. Lucas ought to get a kick out of it.

Thirteen glanced around at the uncomfortable faces all looking on in the large hall. Marguerite, Eduardo and several of the servants were there. This was a scene even a well trained servant couldn't politely ignore.

Now Krampat's house staff knew everything as well. Only House was still in denial. "You love Wilson. Admit it."

House threw her his best scowl as a warning not to follow and ambled quickly away, the rubber tip of his cane making rapid, regular taps on the polished marble floor. This time she didn't follow. She had pointed out to him what he had been refusing to even look at. Now it was up to House. She wished Wilson all the luck in the world. The poor, hopeless bugger was going to need it.

-

-

House returned to Wilson's bedroom, passed through it without saying a word and entered his own. The room was chilly since the fireplace here had not been lit except the first night. Most nights, House had fallen asleep on Wilson's couch. It had just seemed easier (after the movie or the beer or the discussions about the case or life or whatever had wound them down), for him to crash in Wilson's room than to shuffle off to his own cold room and crawl under icy sheets.

Wilson followed House through the elaborate wash room and watched him from the open door for a moment. House was throwing things into his duffle bag.

"I rented a Cessna."

House turned around, trying to sort through what he had said. "You rented a _plane_? Why?

Wilson capitulated with a small sideways nod of his head. "Well, the hospital's paying for it, but yes. Since the sea hurts your stomach, I figured..."

House suddenly understood. He turned back to his duffle bag, his mind a storm of emotions and memories he couldn't put in rank and file anymore. He hated confusion. He hated a mystery. He hated this. But he didn't hate Wilson, not even a molecules worth.

"Thanks." He said to the duffel bag. He didn't want Wilson to leave yet. "You finished packing?"

"Almost."

Wilson recognized House's lame but endearing attempts to keep him in the room. House hardly ever admitted it, but he hated being alone all the time. Wilson understood that since he didn't really want to wait in his room alone either. May as well stay and go for broke. "House, we're compatible in every way."

"No, we're not."

"Yes, we are. You're crazy, I must like crazy, I've liked it for years and now I love it."

"So as long as I'm insane, we'll be happy?"

Wilson thought about it. It made about as much sense as anything else in his life ever had. "Y-y-y-es."

"Then _you're_ crazy."

"Probably."

When House didn't extend the discussion further, Wilson figured he'd taken his shot and now it was up to House. "Thirsty?" Wilson asked. "One last drink before we leave this warm, tropical island in the sun?"

House smiled to himself. He nodded. "Sure."

Wilson poured him a third of a tumbler of Scotch, one for himself and handed one of the glasses to House. House held it up but not drinking, observing the refreshing ice cubes floating in Wilson's drink but the lack of same in his own. "What, no ice cubes for me?"

"You never drink hard stuff with ice."

"Ice waters down the alcohol."

"Ice makes the alcohol taste refreshing, but it can still melt that cold, cold heart if you let it."

House stared down into the glass. Something, a tiny, wee matchstick of a thought came to life in his mind. House looked up at Wilson. "People can change." He said quietly. Then - "What did you say before?"

"When?"

"About the sea?"

"That it hurts your stomach?"

House stared at Wilson for a second, his eyes wide, the spark in them unmistakable. "That's it." He thrust his drink out, forcing Wilson to grab onto it with his free hand, grabbed the younger's mans face between his wide, calloused hands and kissed him hard on the mouth.

When House released him, both men stood there for a few more seconds, stunned. Wilson because House had just kissed him.

And House. - "Un-pack."

Wilson looked even more confused now. "Why? We're flying out tomorrow."

House shook his head. "No we're not."

Wilson blinked. "You've figured it out, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"How? What's wrong with the guy?"

"Never mind. Just un-pack, Romeo. I've got an idiot patient to cure, expensive booze to drink and a Wilson to molest." House turned and left the room, hobbling as fast as his legs would carry him.

-

House entered the staff kitchen, where staff meals were prepared and eaten. Ignoring the disapproving faces of the rotund cook, he opened refrigerators, checking the ice trays. "Full." He muttered.

The large man who bore the title of Second Chef stood there in his cook's puffy hat, profoundly annoyed. He tried to be courteous to the master's special guest, but his kitchen was in a state of being violated. "Excuse me, sir. But I must ask you to leave."

House ignored him, checking out the contents of all three refrigerators. In two of them, the ice trays were stacked very neatly and full. The third fridge had an built-in ice maker. House pushed the buttons to no effect.

"That is broken, Doctor House. No Maytag repairmen willing to fly out. Now would you kindly leave and allow me to get back to my work."

House muttered "Sorry" on his way out the door.

The master kitchen, where all of Krampat's and his guest's meals were prepared, had four refrigerators and two upright freezers. House checked the ice-box's of both fridges and the freezers as well. House pulled out tray after tray, letting them dump on the floor. They were all empty.

He turned to the kitchen maid who had appeared at the door, demanding "Why are there no ice cubes in _these _trays? The staff ice cube trays are full but these are all empty."

The diminutive gray-haired maid stared up at the tall, angry looking man. Her English was poor. "Master no use these ice cube."

House tried to sort that out. "So he uses the _staff_ ice cubes?"

"No. Master like special ice cube."

"Special? As in imported?"

"Brought in, yes. On boat. Master pay much money, get good health."

House handed her the empty tray in his hand. "Too bad the two don't always get along."

"'Scuse?"

House said "Never mind."

-

-

Thirteen met House in Krampat's bedroom. A large pitcher of ice-water sat on his bedside table. It had always sat there since the day he'd arrived, re-filled every few hours with fresh water and -

"Glacier ice." House said to Krampat. "You pay to have glacier ice chopped into these." House stuck his hand in the pitcher and pulled out a shapeless chunk of ice. Even out of the water, it's color was as blue as the ocean on a sunny day. "Glacier ice. Am I right?"

Krampat nodded as though everyone knew that. "Yes. My therapy recommends condensed, pure ice from the south seas."

"Your therapy is a waste of money and, to add insult to injury, it's poisoning you."

Krampat looked up at his valet as though seeking confirmation or comfort.

"Don't look at _him_." House said. "Who's the doctor here?"

Krampat turned his attention back to House, suitably chastised. "Why would pure ice poison me?"

"Because if it was "pure ice" - of which there is no such thing by the way - from a glacier, it probably wouldn't have done you any harm. Only it's not."

Krampat appeared thoroughly puzzled now. "But I pay for them to -"

"-Yes, I know. Evidently, you don't pay them enough. Do you know how hard, and dangerous, it is to moor a boat to an iceberg? I'm betting your supplier decided not to risk it."

House held the offending, freezing thing up to Krampat's face, the water dripping through his fingers onto the expensive quilts. "This ice is from ice-berg _flows_. Ice-berg packs; broken up ice-bergs. Easier to scoop up, little danger to the vessel or the crew. Cheaper, more profit for them - plus they figured you wouldn't know the difference.

"Trouble is, ice-berg flows mix in with the regular seasonal ice packs. These guys know what to look for color and density-wise, he only thing they wouldn't be able to see is the tributyltin in the ice itself."

"Tribula-?"

"Tributyltin." House repeated for him. "A compound manufactures add to the paint used on ocean-going vessels, especially ice-breakers, to prevent mollusks and other sea creatures adhering to the hull. Problem is, as the vessels move through the ice, the paint gets scraped off in tiny microscopic pieces that end up as part of the ice itself; in the regular flow packs, _and_ the ice-berg flows that get mixed in. These guys were bringing you ice-berg ice all right, but they were getting it from a contaminated source. Cheaper for them so more profit. Expensive for you but less healthy."

House took a deep, satisfied breath. "The bad news is you've been ingesting this stuff for years, and tributyltin is rapidly absorbed into the body tissues, but principally the liver, kidney, spleen, fat, lungs, muscle and brain - so pretty much everywhere. It's also detrimental to the immune system, so not only have you picked up every little cold that's come your way, your immunities are over-reacting, trying to get rid of the toxin. No wonder you're not feeling well.

"The good news is, no one has ever been reported to have died from ingesting it. So it looks like you're going to live, Mister Krampat, though I recommend firing your supplier."

House said to Thirteen. "Get a sample of those ice cubes, and biopsy samples from Krampat's liver, kidney, fat and muscle to confirm. I'd ask for a brain sample, but somehow I don't think my patient would agree."

"_No." _Krampat said nervously. "What do I do, Doctor House?"

"There is no treatment except not ingesting any more. Your doses were regular but very small. Over time, you should recover. Your so-called therapy was slowly poisoning you. No expense spared doesn't guarantee good health. And in this case, they were incompatible."

-

-

House returned to the room. Wilson had unpacked and set on the small table between the fireplace chairs a lit candle, two drinks and a snack he';d ordered from the kitchen of smoked oysters, cheese, crackers, pickles and a delicate mayonnaise based dressing.

House limped over and sniffed.

"Trust me, it's delicious." Wilson assured him.

House eased his weight off his foot with a grimace.

Wilson noted it. "You need a good, hot soak."

"I need a new leg."

"I _love _your leg."

House watched Wilson as he glided over to his chair. Wilson made no bones about it and leaned down, stealing a kiss. no hesitation now, the kiss was obvious and intimate. There was no doubt as to its intent.

House looked up at him. "You offering to help me with that?"

Wilson smiled wickedly. "Oh, yeah." And poured them drinks. House had been indulging too much. "One more just to celebrate." Wilson said. "Then you're back on the wagon." House loved him for it. Always had.

And now he always would.

-

-

House sucked in a breath when Wilson grabbed at his crotch not a minute after the drinks were done. House shifted in the chair. "Maybe we ought to move to the bed."

Wilson kissed him on the lips, then moved to his neck. "Thought you wanted a bath?"

"Maybe later."

Wilson helped him up, but House paused. "Door locked?"

Wilson walked over, turned the dead-bolt and returned to House, his hands never stopping their exploration. He pushed House onto the bed by his shoulders. House sat down and let Wilson take the lead.

Wilson was only too glad to do so, and efficiently unbuttoned House's over-shirt while his lips kept the diagnostician otherwise occupied. He pulled the tee-shirt over his head and tossed it aside but when he moved to unzip House's jeans, House held his hand. "Um, you know I'm not a Kosher cut, right?"

Wilson smiled. Trust House to worry about that at this point in the game. "Don't care." He didn't. "That just makes you all the more exotic to me." It did. "You're like some wild, untamed animal no one could ever get a rope around, and you think I want you tamed _now_? House. I _like_ you the way you are. You're..." Wilson looked him up and down, trying to think of the word that fit best, and House actually blushed under the scrutiny. Wilson found the word. "..._**raw**_**."**

Talking was over, and Wilson conveyed the message when he pulled at House's jeans and boxers at the same time, bunching them up around his ankles. House simply had to kick them off.

The first thing Wilson wanted to do is show House how much he liked him as he was, and took his shielded cock on his mouth in one great swallow, keeping it to himself until he felt it grow and expand to its full length and girth. He loved it when House let out a voluntary moan and fell back on the bed. He was giving Wilson full sway over whatever happened next.

Wilson rolled the delicate head around in his mouth, tonguing the slit and licking up pre-cum until House was shaking. He was exotic.

House moaned, tangling his fingers in Wilson's hair and doing his best not to buck up into his mouth, to encourage him to take him in deeper. Wilson obeyed and did his best to swallow House to the hilt. He had to back off at a small gag, but then sucked in hard, not so deep but with everything he could give, until House cried out and bucked off the mattress, shooting into his mouth. Wilson swallowed a little, then let the rest drain out his lip. Semen wasn't an especially delicious fluid to say the least, but House's moans were music to his ears. As long as he could make House make that sound, the unpleasant taste was worth it.

When House had collapsed back on the mattress, limp as a rag, Wilson crawled up his body, careful to avoid his bad thigh, and lay on him, taking his mouth again for a few more moments. "I'm going to do that to you as often as possible." He said and kissed his eyelid, making him blink. "And other things, too, 'course."

House wondered why he had worried that this would be a bad thing. He was curious. "Do you really love me? I mean, _love_ me, not the casual pal-around type."

Wilson leaned on one elbow but he didn't move off House's stomach, unwilling to give up the intimate moment. He was laying on his best friend's warm abdomen, they were both butt naked, the case was over, he had just taken House to the moon with a pretty fair blow job, and now he had House's complete attention. This was a life-altering fantastic first. "Yes. I'm in love. Probably for the first time in my life."

House blinked, frowned a little. "Better be the _last_ time, too."

Wilson understood. Running one appreciative hand over House's shoulder muscles, he kissed him on the lips again, memorizing the taste. "Who on this planet could possible follow _you_?"

XXXXXXX

END Thanks!


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